Sense
by The Crow and the Butterfly
Summary: Because really, none of it mattered to her. The life of Yuri Miyazono.


Yuri Miyazono is high on my list of characters we should know more about. I've always liked her, and she's one of my favorite characters despite her few appearances. As we've only seen her like, three times, this is all completely inferred.

I own nothing.

* * *

_1. Early Years_

She hated her alice before she knew what it was. Her mother was always kind, overprotective, adoring, and openly preferred her to her brothers. At the time, she had attributed the behavior to being the baby of the family and the only girl, but realized after the first day of kindergarten that there was something strange going on with her. Growing up, her mother's friend's children had all been boys, save for a baby girl who, come to think of it, had gravitated to her whenever she was within sight. As a result, she had naturally become a tomboy; playing soccer with her three older brothers (or attempting to, really, they were all school-age and the ball was a third of her height) rather than playing tea party. Her mother was extremely tolerant, of course. She obliged when her daughter wanted a giant stuffed dinosaur for her fifth birthday, forced her youngest son to dress up as Ash Ketchum when she insisted on being Pikachu for Halloween, and nodded understandingly when she threw a tantrum when someone suggested that she grow out her hair from its tousled pixie cut.

She was five years old, wearing her beloved Pokemon T-shirt and a pair of grass-stained jeans, and standing at the door of a cheerful-looking classroom. Upon careful inspection of the poster-paints, the crayon-colored chairs, and the brand-new boxes of chalk that practically begged you to open them and swipe a lovely pastel line across the blank expanse of blackboard, she wondered whether she should have yelled as loud as she did when her parents had carted her off that morning. As she was ushered forwards to take a seat on the huge, fuzzy, inviting rug, every single girl in the room, including the teacher and a few lingering parents, turned around. She shrunk back into her shocked father's arms, suddenly assaulted with hugs and kisses and cries of "oh, isn't she just _darling?_"

The second she got through her front door, she threw herself on the kitchen floor and screamed. Her mother stumbled downstairs in alarm, only to hear her precious daughter yell hysterically that she hated kindergarten and never wanted to go back again. She was pulled out of school the next morning.

_2. Departures and Arrivals_

A couple summers later, less that a week before she turned seven, her mother started crying, and didn't stop. Her father told her to pack her things and to say goodbye. Though she protested loudly and stubbornly and demanded to know what was going on, she found herself driving across the country in the back of her family's car with two suitcases, a Gameboy Color, and hot, frustrated tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Dad," she had said, staring up at the ominous metal gates. "Where are we?" It was in the early stages of the late July nightfall, and the light posts on surrounding streets were beginning to illuminate.

"We're at school," he replied thickly. "You're going to go to school."

"No I'm not. I'm not going in there. Dad, I want to go home!" Her plea ended in a pitiful whine that would have persuaded her mother. She watched her dad stiffen, pointedly not meeting her eyes.

"Don't be difficult, Yuri. You're going to school."

"If I'm gonna go to school here, then why'd we take so long to get here? How am I gonna get back home later?"

Something inside her father broke. She could see it, and it shocked her. He bent down and folded her tightly in his arms, tears rolling down his nose and into her hair. "You're… you're not going to go home."

She took his words as confirmation that she would soon spiral into the endless, inescapable fires of hell. And, as you would be angry to find out you were going to hell for no reason you could think of, she began to cry; fat, fuming tears.

"You're so mean, Daddy! Why would you make me go here! Mom wouldn't have done this! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!"

Someone cleared their throat. Father and daughter looked up, and the gates swung open with a metallic scraping sound. Her fist slowed to rest on her father's chest, her angry sobs caught in her throat, and she was wholly, completely terrified. Her hand was taken and she was tugged gently away from her father, her family, her life. He watched her go. She looked back until she could no longer see the figure behind the tall, intricately curved gates.

She could remember the first time she set foot in Elementary Class A with an especial clarity. What struck her was not the enormity of the place or the abruptness of her arrival, but the complete strangeness of the people. She had been sat down for a talk about alices prior to entering the room, and come away armed only with the basic impression that girls liked her because she had superpowers. The teachers had used words like "pheromone" which she neither knew the meaning of nor could correctly pronounce, and she felt utterly unprepared and sure that they had gotten something wrong. She cringed as she was reluctantly shoved into the room, but forgot why she was so disinclined to go in when she got a good look at the students. There was a child who hovered a good two feet above everyone' head, a huge metal contraption in one corner, children in strange masks, and about three eerily identical red-headed girls carrying on various conversations. Even the people not actively displaying some sort of power (or alice, as she'd learned) were slightly odd. Two boys in one corner chatted softly among themselves and shot covert glances around the room, in the other corner was a boy that was referred to by all as dangerous. The kid in front of her was curiously motionless, and her seatmate informed her that his soul was never exactly where it was supposed to be (pointing helpfully to a smiling pencil box hopping along the opposite wall).

She never had many friends after arriving at the Academy. She stayed away from girls, and boys tended to stay away from her. It didn't matter. She found other ways to occupy herself, such as playing catch with herself against the wall in her room or immersing herself in that old Gameboy game she had brought with her on the day she enrolled. Other free time was spent creating fanciful stories in her head, or spinning up wildly excellent pipe dreams. She had already become a student at a superhero school, so she may as well be a believer in fairy tales. Anything was possible.

It was during these earlier years, especially after the third grade when she had learned the definition of "lesbian," when she developed the impression that she held fomost of her life. Everyone else in the world was stupid, and not worth bothering with. Now, that wasn't exactly accurate. She was one to dream, staring blankly out classroom windows on one of the sticky summer days she hated, or fantasizing during those times when she was barely conscious, but still hanging on to sleep. She believed firmly and stubbornly that someone kind, smart and worthwhile existed somewhere. Sadly, as of yet, she hadn't come across them.

_3. Charmers_

Her seventh birthday fell, coincidentally, on her first foray into the Somatic class. As expected, she was soon surrounded by several Middle School girls commenting on how cute she was and wishing her a very happy birthday (They only found out because someone from her class had stuck a flamboyant button on her that sang "Happy Birthday" at random intervals). Somehow, she managed to escape and push open the heavy door, but before she could enjoy her freedom, she tripped over the legs of two boys (men, really) wearing what she now recognized as the High School uniform.

"Must be the new kid," said the red-haired one to his blonde companion. The blonde inclined his head slightly in agreement, and then looked down at her pitifully sprawled form from his seat against the wall. Her eyes, along with those of the other boy, widened as he extended a hand.

"It's okay. Sorry for tripping you," he had said, in a tone that suggested he wasn't used to apologizing. She took the hand, but let go of it immediately after she had pushed herself up.

"What's your alice?" interrupted the redhead.

"Um…" she stammered, racking her brains for the word. "Phemo… no, phera-something…"

"Pheromone?" suggested the blonde, brushing a stray curl back over his shoulder.

"Yeah," she agreed with embarrassment. "That."

She saw a fleeting smile grace his face. "You know what? That's my alice too."

"Really?" she had asked in all her hopeful innocence. "Do girls like you too?"

Any trace of a smile disappeared instantly from his face, but his friend artfully disguised a laugh into a coughing fit. The blonde man recovered from his shock seeing her strange expression, and smiled again, in an alluring sort of way.

"They do if I want them to."

And inexplicably, she found herself liking this person. It seemed impossible not to. He was charming and courteous, not to mention good-looking. For the life of her, she couldn't think why she wouldn't have noticed it before. This man was one of the most incredible people she had ever known.

Only a long time later did she realize that must be how unfortunate girls who came too close were charmed by her.

_4. Options Open_

The winter she was eleven, Class B, under Narumi's now-enthusiastic guidance, went on a sporadic field trip for Christmas shopping. Those who didn't have anyone much to shop for, including her, weren't really intrigued, but Central Town, by common consent, was decidedly more interesting than regular class. It was one of those Decembers when it was infuriatingly cold but refused to snow; so much of the wintertime charm of the clusters of shops, the main reason she loved the place at Christmas, was diminished. Nonetheless, much of the class entertained themselves by sliding across puddles that were frozen solid. When the one boy with the glasses scraped his arm rather badly by slipping and landing on a dislodged shard of ice, she removed herself from the group under cover of the worried crowd.

She ducked into a nearby shop until her classmates moved on, apologizing to the shopkeeper and bumping into a magazine rack. When she scrambled to pick up the things that fell, a picture on the cover caught her eye. A tall woman, with a slim, bony body type similar to her own, smiled into the camera with an extended hand. The image was inviting, and she was intrigued. She flipped through the pages, but this time it was the advertisements that looked fascinating. _They actually pay people;_ she remembered thinking, _for wearing clothes and walking around? I can do that. _She had, after her first Alice Festival, been resigned to a fate of being kidnapped by some Takarazuka troupe or otherwise forced to do something she didn't want to do. It was just as well, she had thought, because there wasn't much that seemed both appealing and possible.

She wandered around the shops, stack of magazines in hand, in an attempt to find her class. When she bumped into a couple students by accident, a boy and girl who were bringing up the back of the group, several children asked her where she had been. She said she had been there the entire time, and they must have just not noticed. They believed her.

_5. Acceptances_

"No," she refused, staring in distaste at the pompom-adorned collar. "I'm not going to wear that. That's a boy's outfit."

"Come on, Yuri-chan," whined Narumi in a failed attempt at persuasion. "You'll look so cute!"

"No, I won't," she stated stubbornly. "Just because girls like me doesn't mean I have to cross-dress!"

He put one hand on his hip and sighed dramatically. "You know what you need to do? You need to embrace your alice."

"Embrace it? You're basically telling me to become a lesbian! You don't see me telling you to go start being bi!"

Narumi coughed awkwardly. She reddened. "Sorry, are you…?"

"Anyway," continued her teacher. "You're never going to be able to control your alice if you don't accept it."

"Accept it?!"

"Wear the clothes," threatened Narumi in that strange way he went about it, with a never-failing smile. "Or I'll use my pheromones on you."

"Fine," she grumbled. Some model she'd be.

_6. Blossoms_

The New Year's she was thirteen, along with the usual letters from her family, pictures of their new dog and of her oldest brother's fiancée, she received an envelope, ornamented with a single flower, that was much too fancy for everyday use. She knew what it was before she turned it over, and her fears were soon confirmed.

"Eh? Miyazono got invited to the Hanazonokai?"

She was soon surrounded by a group of classmates, each clamoring for a look at the beribboned envelope.

"Stop it," she hissed. "It's mine!" Her protest had no effect, and a ponytailed girl snatched it away.

"Wow, that's so great! I heard Yamanouchi got in last year, and you know how she is..."

"I'm not going," she said. And, dammit, it would be true. Going to a party with a bunch of girls held by a creepy lesbian principal wasn't her idea of New Year's fun. The crowd around her went silent, shocked.

"What?" wondered one girl. "Of course you're going… why wouldn't you go?"

"I don't want to," she replied matter-of-factly. "It sounds stupid."

And so, she spent the better part of January the first in her room with a book. Eventually, she realized she had nothing better to do on the day of the party. In fact, she had nothing to do at all, like usual. She decided to show up anyway. At least they were supposed to have good food.

Upon entering, she had been accosted by several admittedly beautiful women, the undeniably pretty and popular, in elaborate kimonos. She tugged on her unruly hair, feeling especially unfeminine and out of place. They introduced themselves as flowers: Kakitsubata, Sakuranomiya, Nadeshiko, and so on. The princesses were hell-bent on calling her Yuri no Kimi, but she refused point-blank. No way was she going to be called that in a place like this.

It didn't turn out so bad. The feast was rather excellent, though there were a couple close shaves when she nearly spilled her food on her clothing. They played games, and they chatted about nothing in particular, as girls often tend to do. The Hanahime took a liking to her, as expected, but a genuine one instead of false infatuation. She was informed that her alice was weakened in this place, and so, as much as she hated to admit it, she loved it there. She decided to stay with it, if only to make her life marginally less monotonous.

As she became more closely involved with the Hanazonokai, they told her things. Terrifying things, things that sounded more rumor than fact. There was a young girl locked up, held captive in the Hanahimeden. They wouldn't tell her why, only that it had to stay hidden. No one could know.

It unnerved her quite a bit, but she was always good at keeping secrets.

_7. Failures and Successes_

The room was large, but sparsely furnished. The few items of furniture: Leather chairs, a rich, mahogany desk, an ornate chandelier, were so beautiful and expensive-looking that it didn't matter. The design of the room was that of the stereotypically rich and modern, a simple elegance. It was the sort of place that seemed too stylish for her to be; she felt that she might break something if she so much as brushed it with her fingers. She shuddered. The immaculately dressed and haughtily intimidating person behind the desk sniffed.

"Come…" the woman rifled through her book, searching for the name "…Miyazono-san. Stand in the middle of this carpet, if you please. Be quick about it."

"Yes ma'am," she said quietly, blushing in wide-eyed embarrassment as she caught her foot on her chair and stumbled. Her observer stood up all of a sudden, and motioned for her to turn on the spot. She obliged, spinning in a tight circle.

"Not so fast," interjected the woman, who was now in front of her. "I can't see." She began to revolve slowly; painfully aware of the many ways she was already failing this interview. The feeling of being watched so closely by this person made her hair stand on end. Perhaps she wasn't cut out for this after all.

"Hmm…" murmured the woman, speaking not to her subject but to herself. "Nice frame, tall…" Here, she looked up. "What size are you?"

"Er… two, most of the time."

"Well, that's good. Of course, something has to be done about that hair. Extensions, maybe, or at least a decent cut." She paused to observe her face. "Eyes are too far apart, they're a bit dull. Lips are nice, but her nose is too long." She returned to her aspirant, frowning at the expression she held, "You're not used to being criticized, are you?"

She remained motionless, shocked.

"Answer the question."

"Well," she tried. "No one much says anything about me, good or bad." She realized too late that, though it was honest, it was the wrong answer. Her interviewer sighed, dropping the matter.

"Let's see you walk. From that chair over there," she pointed across the room "back to me. Don't dawdle."

She rushed to follow the instructions, her back straight and her jaw set, all the while anxious that her best wasn't good enough. Of course, it wasn't.

"You're light on your feet, but you need more of a presence. There's no strength behind it."

She shrunk back, stunned. She tried desperately to think of a way to persuade her worth, but found none. Except…

No. No way. She had promised herself not to.

She smiled charmingly, activating her alice. The woman in front of her stared up in transfixed wonder.

"You know what? You're very beautiful. Really. I think you would do well."

She grinned appreciatively, but wanted to cry.

She was cheating.

_8. Mysteries_

She had never seen the allure of alcohol. It struck her as ridiculous that people would drown themselves in the stuff knowing full well the consequences. Aside from that, she hated the taste. And so she found herself the only sober one in a hotel room full of giggling girls. It was a good thing she had learned to control her alice, she thought, or who knows what they would have done to her.

To her surprise, with some practice, she had actually gotten pretty good at this whole modeling thing. The hardest part had been getting over the shyness. In her later childhood, she had become a bit of an introvert. She realized sometime, years later, that she didn't hate the attention from women; she hated the attention. Timidity in the face of anyone's interest, be it asking for a pencil or just watching her idly, she had always assumed was a natural thing that was characteristic of everyone. Some of the people she had come across, they were friends with everyone, flirted mercilessly, and craved a camera's attention. They were mysterious to her: How could anyone be that brave? She figured that they just had to work at it, so work at it she did.

Classes had helped to improve her technique. She had pored over photographs, observing the way that the successful models moved and acted. And as a result of time and hard work, she became better at what she did.

However, she still used her alice sometimes; if the need arose or a helpful opportunity presented itself. She told herself it was for the best. She wasn't sure if she believed herself, but put it behind her.

Her train of thought was interrupted by a too-late shout of "heads up" and a pink pillow soaring across her field of vision, missing her by a hair.

"Sorry…" apologized the girl whose room she was in (however insincerely, there was an expression of hilarity on her face). The girl, her name definitely started with "N," but after that she wasn't quite sure; might have been Nami or Natsu or something, had invited the whole lot of them over to her room the night before their show. Inevitably, someone had turned up with a hell of a lot of alcohol. And inevitably, they had all ended up getting completely wasted.

She checked her watch and sighed. It was 1:04 in the morning. They had to be up in less than five hours.

"Guys," she called. "You've got to be up and ready at six."

"We've got plenty of time. Don't be a killjoy, Miyazono."

"It's one."

"Fuck," hissed a blonde woman, leaning her head back against the wall. "I'm going to feel like shit in the morning."

"I'll bet you 1000 yen that she trips on the runway," giggled another.

"Well," she announced. "I guess I'll go get some sleep." The rest nodded and mumbled in assent, pushing themselves up and filing out the door in an attempt at order. Her room was a couple doors down, and she turned the knob with tired relief.

Not three minutes later, someone knocked.

She groaned and twisted the doorknob again. Standing in the doorframe was the girl who had acted as host, a red flowery headband in her hand.

"Hey," she said, too brightly for one in the morning. "I found this, isn't it yours?" Nami or whoever waved the band in her face.

"Nah," she yawned, leaning against the door. "It's not mine, it's um… Uehara's, I think. She's a bit farther down the hall."

"Oh," murmured the girl in disappointment. "Well, can I come in then?"

"But, what for?"

Her uninvited guest shut the door behind her and collapsed backwards on the bed that she had wanted to sleep on for the last three hours.

"Er…" she stalled, a bit lost for words. The girl on her bed stretched like a cat, throwing her arms up over her head. And she felt the oddest sensation.

What got her was the waist. Not the outline of her breast, or the long, slender legs. It was the gentle curve of the girl's waist. When she got it in her head that she wanted to touch it, she shook her head vigorously, knowing that something was seriously wrong with her.

"Hey, you okay?"

She blushed furiously, sitting hurriedly down in a chair across the room. The girl rolled off the bed and giggled again in the way that was really starting to infuriate her.

"You're so cute," she grinned.

"I'm… cute?"

"Sure you are." The young woman came closer, too close, infuriatingly close. She didn't know what was going on with her, only that it had to stop, and now. But on some level, she knew she didn't want it to stop. And that's what did it. The girl's eyes lit up with an expression she knew too well.

She _couldn't _be using her alice. Not _now. _

The face came closer to hers, and with an unexplainable move, she kissed the girl in front of her.

Just as she didn't expect to do it in the first place, she didn't expect to get a response. She didn't expect it to _go_ anywhere.

She found herself in bed an hour later. Lying next to a woman. Utterly confused.

Every now and then she'd find herself looking at some girl and finding them attractive. She'd shrugged it off as… well, she couldn't explain why, only that she hadn't paid attention. Nonetheless, she was undeniably attracted to men. She rolled over, burying her face in her pillow. This was so much more complicated than it had to be.

It's not that she hadn't entertained the notion of bisexuality before. She'd just thought it was weird. And now, it made more sense to her than anything else. She'd never been under the impression that things like this just happened out of the blue, but happen things did.

The girl next to her sniffled in her sleep, curling closer into the blankets. She sighed. It was going to be awful explaining his in the morning.

* * *

That was the closest thing to angst I've ever written, and I have a feeling I failed spectacularly.

The multiple Pokemon references stemmed from a conversation that I wrote up off the top of my head once that involved Yuri, Tsubasa, and the Pokemon anime (don't ask), and so I felt obligated put something in.

I can't explain the random appearances of Narumi. The red-head was Reo, by the way (had to put him in...) This is set Post-Yuka.

There was also quite a timeskip between six and seven, about eight or nine years.

Well, cheers.


End file.
